


The Act of Balancing

by Sovin



Series: A Careful Kind of Balance [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Sexual Kink, Non-Sexual Submission, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Rope Bondage, Sex, Slow Build, Subspace, dom!grantaire, sub!enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:09:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1231069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sovin/pseuds/Sovin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras just wants to be tied up, without it being a sex thing. Grantaire, apparently, is happy to oblige. Of course, feelings make it all that more complicated, which complicates everything else in turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. String Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimer: not my property and not making any money.
> 
> I don't even know how these things happen sometimes. There's no sex or romantic relationships in this chapter, but there's negotiation, rope bondage, very happily subbing Enjolras, and hair petting.
> 
> There will probably be random notes as I write part two and three over at sovinly.tumblr.com. Come say hi.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras just wants to be tied up, without it being a sex thing. Grantaire, apparently, is happy to oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual disclaimer: not my property and not making any money.
> 
> I don't even know how these things happen sometimes. There's no sex or romantic relationships in this chapter, but there's negotiation, rope bondage, very happily subbing Enjolras, and hair petting.
> 
> There will probably be random notes as I write part two and three over at sovinly.tumblr.com. Come say hi.

 

Vaguely, Enjolras was aware that Grantaire painted among his many other pursuits, though it would have been hard not to when he kept showing up with pigment stained fingers and smears of charcoal along his cheekbones, but he had never paid much attention to the fact until the day he overheard Jehan gushing to Courfeyrac and Musichetta about a painting he'd modeled for. He was only half listening, but he walked by just in time to see the poet pull up a photograph of the finished image on his laptop, and he couldn’t help but pause.

It was a lovely piece of work, even Enjolras and his untrained eye could admit that. Jehan was the central figure, and for once there was no classical reference he saw. The background was done in shades of dark purples, hints of reds peeking in here and there, and it stood out against the color of Jehan's skin where it showed, beautifully contrasted in brief glimpses. But more than that was the pose, and that's what made his eyes catch, because Jehan had been twisted into an elegant arch, limbs bound and tied with rope that caught his weight, and though the bondage looked surprisingly artistic, he could tell it was skillfully, carefully, professionally done.

The pose and the painting were absolutely beautiful, but more than that, it hit Enjolras with the sudden, insistent reminder that it had been _ages_ and he was aching for someone to tie him up, for something to take the edge off his stress because it all got to be so much, and he suddenly realized that he was actually listening to their conversation.

"- No, he did all of the knots himself," Jehan was saying, hands gesturing easily as ever as he looked to Courfeyrac earnestly. "It wasn't even uncomfortable and R knew I was ready to be finished before I did."

Musichetta, surprisingly enough, nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised - I told you about the... with the handcuffs? Bossuet mentioned he was the one they talked to about what to do after -"

Enjolras made himself continue walking, not even noticing the scowl on his face or furrowed brow. The knowledge that Grantaire was familiar with such elaborate bondage was surprising enough in the first place, but now that the idea was in his head, he couldn't stop weighing it. He hadn't found anyone capable or discrete enough to trust with tying him up in a year. It would be a bad idea. The cynical artist had no great love for him anyway, and always seemed to have one sexual conquest or another and Enjolras doubted he would be interested in something that wasn't. But... he recalled the look on Grantaire's face and his quiet insistence that Enjolras didn't give him enough credit and should give him a chance. And he really, desperately needed something to take the edge off.

It was enough to win him over, and several days later found him at the door of Grantaire's incongruously spacious loft – he still didn’t understand how the man had wrangled it, since it wasn’t as though he had money to spare, but it was likely to be another rambling anecdote that sounded like the set up to a bad joke and probably boiled down to Grantaire finding friends in the oddest places. Enjolras hesitated just a moment before knocking, blond curls tied back in a ponytail and wondering if he should have dressed in better than jeans and the perpetual red hoodie, but he hadn't wanted it to seem like something _more_. There was enough chance of Grantaire laughing in his face already.

As if on cue, he opened the door, dark curls an unruly, paint streaked mop and the rest of him just as paint splattered as he blinked at Enjolras, thick eyebrows arching up. "Why, fearless leader, have I forgotten an appointment?"

"Ah, no. May I?" he asked, suddenly feeling rather dry mouthed.

If anything, that made the other man's eyebrows rise further, but he opened the door and gestured for Enjolras to enter with a faint flourish of a bow. His blue eyes were surprisingly calm and steady as he watched him, shutting the door and crossing back towards his easel. "To what do I owe the sudden pleasure?"

"... I saw your painting of Prouvaire," Enjolras said after a moment, trying to keep his face from going red. "He said you tied him up."

A sudden cloud crossed Grantaire's face before he grinned wildly. "Are you _kink shaming_ , Enjolras? For shame! Jehan, lovely flower that he is, consented to have himself posed and his portrait painted, but still! I should tell Courfeyrac on you."

"No!" He bristled, feeling himself flush red and suddenly aware that this had been a horrible idea. "He can do whatever he pleases, I didn't mean it like that. I meant..."

Clenching his jaw, he looked down and away, surprised at himself for backing down from the now familiar arguments. It seemed to have surprised Grantaire as well, because Enjolras could see him pause and shift at the edge of his vision.

"... Hey, I think I did this wrong," he said, and Enjolras looked up at the unusual seriousness of his tone. He looked much more at ease and alert, arms crossed easily over his chest, in control even in his ripped and paint stained jeans, fraying at the edges. "Come sit down, I'll make us some tea, and we can talk."

"I would appreciate that," he said slowly, accepting the suggestion for the peace offering it was, setting down his bag after a moment and following Grantaire into the kitchen, taking the offered seat and relaxing a little as he watched. Surprisingly, watching as Grantaire made tea was enough to settle Enjolras, collecting his thoughts and folding his hands together. It was undeniably strange, how intense the other man's eyes looked as he sat down across from him, passing over a perfect cup, just the way he usually took it.

"So. I'm guessing your interest in my tying Jehan up is more than a point of policy?" he asked, dark curls spilling into his face, but they still weren't enough to obscure his eyes, fingertip running along the rim of his cup thoughtfully.

Enjolras inclined his head slightly, hand wrapped comfortably around his cup, still a little thrown by Grantaire's sudden seriousness. "It is. Your knots looked… professional."

He hadn't quite been expecting the other man to laugh or flinch, but it was still a relief when his look just _focused_ , brows curving up. "Alright, then. On what terms were you thinking?"

This was comfortable and familiar ground, at least, even if there was the still unfortunate chance of rejection, but Enjolras' voice and eyes were steady. "I need stress relief. Non-sexual rope bondage sessions, either several in the next few weeks or over the next few months. No sex, no dating, full negotiation. Submission within that context, yes, outside of it, no. And, of course, not a word to anyone. And no drinking."

Grantaire nodded, taking a sip of his tea as he thought, fingers drumming briefly on the table. "I can handle that. I'd prefer not to mention it to anyone else, either. Sober eleven months, by the way, and I’d never mix this with alcohol. Negotiation is a must, as are safewords. You'll have to talk to me - no assuming, no leaping to conclusions, we talk about it. I'd like you to clear your schedule for twice as long as you think it will take and tell me - aftercare is mandatory, I'm not letting you walk out of here just to subdrop. I mean, there's a difference between a quick arms tied behind your back session before a meeting and an hour long, intense suspension session."

He tried not to bristle at that, but after a moment, nodded back, fingers tightening briefly around his teacup before he took a sip. "I can accept that. I'd prefer to email about negotiations before discussing them in person - from burner accounts, of course - so that nothing is glossed over or left out."

"Of course." He watched another moment, before his mouth turned up in a smile Enjolras hadn't seen before - not a grin or something soft and sheepish, but confident and comfortable and a little pleased. "Swing by on Wednesday to negotiate in person, and a tentative plan for...?"

"Friday, early afternoon," Enjolras replied, after a moment of thought. "I'll be free, then, and that gives us enough time to discuss. You have supplies?"

"Mm-hm," Grantaire agreed, nodding. "I'll let you take a look at my ropes on Wednesday, if you'd like. And the suspension hooks, if you'd like to test or inspect them."

"I would," he agreed, pleasantly surprised. Glancing at the time, he finished his tea, rising with an easy grace, letting just a little of his appreciation curl the corner of his mouth and reach his eyes. "Thank you."

"Thank *you*," he replied, rising as well, walking with Enjolras out of the kitchen. By the time he opened the door, he was back to normal, slouched and lazy, the flash of his grin familiar. "Watch yourself, Apollo. I'll hear from you soon, I'm sure."

"I'm sure," he replied, dryly, nodding a farewell as he headed down the stairs, still thinking on his discussion with Grantaire as he made his way back to his own apartment. It would have been hard to clear it from his thoughts, considering that he had a text with an email address by the end of the day, and had spent longer than he'd thought writing an email of preliminary negotiations, surprised at how well it matched up with Grantaire's own. By Wednesday, Enjolras was feeling itchy, especially after seeing the admittedly well secured hooks and set up, nearly ready to burst from anticipation and stress on Friday, snapping at Courfeyrac all morning.

Even just getting ready to walk to Grantaire's quiet apartment was enough to settle him a little. There was something still familiar even after so long in slipping into the comfortable track pants and thin t-shirt, tossing another pair into his bag and zipping up his hoodie, and even more in tightly braiding his long blond hair back from his face, secure enough that it wouldn't get in the way. But it wasn't enough to curb the faint traces of anxiety that haunted him down the sidewalk, stray thoughts rattling as much as his nerves.

Fumbling his phone to silent, he tucked it in his backpack, knocking on the door. It didn’t take long for it to swing open, Grantaire inviting him in easily. He apparently had his own routines, hair pinned back from his face but still far from tamed, jeans old and worn and clearly well broken in, shirt loose and comfortable looking, his feet bare. “Hey. Something to drink?”

“Hello. Some water would be welcome,” Enjolras said, toeing off his shoes and socks at the other man’s gesture, Grantaire already moving off to get him some water, herding him gently over to the worn but incredibly comfortable couch. Sipping his water, he tried not to feel nervous, arching a brow slightly.

That made Grantaire laugh, but he looked more focused already, steepling his fingers and resting his elbows on his knees. “Just a minute, we’re not starting until you’re ready. You’re sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Enjolras snapped, scowling faintly. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. I _have_ done this before. I even stretched before I came over.”

He nodded, not looking stung by the snappishness. “Alright, alright. Safeword?”

“Red, yellow for a warning. Snap my fingers for a nonverbal sign,” he recited immediately. “Saying “safeword” is also acceptable if I can’t remember.”

“Good.” He did look reassured, studying Enjolras for a moment. “Let me know when you’re ready and we can get started.”

Finishing his glass of water, he checked his hairtie partially just to reassure himself, before nodding, looking over at Grantaire steadily. “I’m ready.”

“Alright, then. Up,” he said, a quiet, easy note of command to his voice that had Enjolras on his feet and following him back into the studio, barely in the door when Grantaire nodded to a space in the middle of the floor. “Keel over there.”

Already feeling some of the tension drain from his shoulders, Enjolras sank down to his knees gracefully, head bowed and hands laid gently on his knees. He studied the room, view a little obscured by his eyelashes, unconsciously biting his lower lip when he spotted the soft, sturdy looking coils of rope set to the side.

“Oh, you _are_ good at this,” Grantaire said, sitting in front of Enjolras, not forcing him to look up as he reached for the rope, starting to uncoil it slowly, the weight of his gaze sending shivers down Enjolras’ spine. “Arms behind your back.”

The order was given so firmly but so undemandingly that Enjolras settled a little more under the press of it, folding his arms behind his back immediately, grateful for the quiet murmur of Grantaire’s voice as he looped the rope around the back of his neck and around his torso, explaining and checking knots and tensions as he went, leaving Enjolras’ arms free for the moment.

“Color?” Grantaire prompted as he moved around behind Enjolras, looping the rope around his waist a few more times, hands comfortably warm as he worked.

“Green,” he replied instantly, eyes half lidded, not even realizing how tense he still was until the heel of Grantaire’s hand pressed lightly against the top of his spine, Enjolras bowing easily to the barely-there pressure, curving forward just a little.

“Good.” Grantaire’s smile was clear in his voice as he adjusted Enjolras’ arms, binding them together and against his back, starting to talk softly but firmly again as he returned to work, starting to twine the rope around itself before setting it aside, reaching for another coil, free hand just pressing against Enjolras’ shoulders again, so light he barely felt it. “Go down for me, chest against the floor, knees bent.”

Acquiescing, he bowed, pressing his cheek against the cool floor, glancing up at Grantaire again and flexing his muscles and shifting just enough to test the rope, but it held steady, not giving him room to do much more than he was.

Grantaire’s hand pushed between Enjolras’ shoulder blades again, firm this time, stilling him, look stern and unimpressed, brow arching. “ _Don’t_ fight the ropes. Understood?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, distantly surprised at how breathy it came out. “Yes, yes, I’m sorry, I won’t.”

“Good boy,” Grantaire murmured, hand just cupping Enjolras’ jaw, but it was enough to settle him with another breathy, needful sound, before he went back to work, tying the new rope through the one already wrapped around Enjolras’ waist. Rising, he threaded the rope through a suspension loop, pulling gently.

Even the soft, steady tug had Enjolras arching willingly, shifting his knees forward to raise his hips higher, most of his weight still on his chest and knees when Grantaire stopped, but hips high enough for a delicious, stinging pull through his muscles, whimpering softly before breathing, “Green, oh, still green,” to the question Grantaire was just about to ask.

He was rewarded with a hand smoothing over his shoulder before Grantaire finished tying the knots, picking up the previously abandoned rope to tie Enjolras’ ankles, keeping his legs not-quite-painfully bent up and tied to his arms so he couldn’t relax them. Enjolras couldn’t move, couldn’t find any hint of slack, and oh, oh, he’d needed this so badly, missed it with an ache, his breath catching in his throat.

Grantaire sat in front of him again, silently commanding Enjolras’ attention, and he looked up at the man as best he could, tensing against the bonds a little.

“I told you not to fight them,” he reprimanded, still in that soft, steady voice, calloused fingertips just catching under Enjolras’ jaw. “Relax. Let go.”

He took a shuddering breath, trying, and felt himself sag against the ropes, felt them catch him and hold him in place even as he went pliant, sighing in soft relief.

“You’re still thinking,” Grantaire murmured, eyes green flecked and intense and as steady as the taut ropes keeping Enjolras from an artless collapse on the floor. “You’re thinking about your causes and obligations and your schedules. I want your full attention here. I want you thinking about nothing except what I am saying to you and the ropes holding you up. So I’m telling you again, let go.”

Enjolras’ eyes fluttered shut as Grantaire’s hand between his shoulder blades pushed him down against the unyielding floor, and he went limp. The ropes tightened, but held, and he couldn’t feel anything but the press of them against his skin through his clothes, focusing on the lull of Grantaire’s voice as instructed, his world narrowing down to the cord wrapping around him and the other man’s words until even they blurred and he felt the tension drain out of him, not moving, not fighting, not caring, only yielding, only surrendering, spineless and supple and obedient, held up only by the ropes, eyes still shut and breathing easing, only half aware of the occasional whining note that slipped in and losing any track of time, feeling heavy and light and clouded all at once.

Drifting for some indeterminate, unimportant age, he only distantly felt his hips lower slowly and knees unbend, too dazed to really feel the gentle press of Grantaire’s fingers as he undid ropes and rubbed his limbs and joints, still lost in the soft sway of the man’s voice. Slowly, he blinked, some of the heaviness lifting, warm and comfortable, belatedly realizing there was a blanket draped over him, fleece lining soft against his flushed skin, head pillowed on Grantaire’s lap, worn fingers working their way through Enjolras’ hair, all but leaving him purring.

“- You did so well,” Grantaire was murmuring, voice still easy but soft with praise rather than expectation. “You did so well for me, letting yourself go, staying tied up so uncomplainingly, so easily. You took it very well and I’m very happy with you, Enjolras, you did so well. Come on, you’re alright, I’ve got you, I’m right here. Ah, there you are. Hello.”

“Hello,” Enjolras said, voice a little rough, still too settled to protest Grantaire’s petting.

He smiled at that, offering Enjolras a bottle of water, already opened. “How are you feeling? Anything hurt?”

“No,” he murmured, accepting the water and sipping thankfully. “I’m good. A little shaky, but-”

He let out a happy, relaxed sound, unable to find a word to express himself, feeling wobbly but deliciously relaxed and lazy.

“That’s good,” Grantaire replied, smoothing hair from Enjolras’ face. “When you’re ready to move, how about you change and I’ll make you something to eat, maybe put something on the television until you’re feeling more yourself?”

“You don’t have to,” he said, more forcefully than he meant to, brow pinching together. “This isn’t-”

“It’s not more,” he broke in evenly, anticipating Enjolras’ objection, thumb smoothing over his temple. “This still falls under aftercare. You’re shaking, you need to sit and you need to eat, especially since it’s been so long since you’ve done this. Something on will help you focus. I’m not sending you home like this.”

He blinked at that, surprised and actually rather touched. “Oh. Well. Alright.”

“Thank you, Enjolras.” He did look pleased and relieved, and Enjolras was still under enough that it sent a thrill of pleasure through him, having said the right thing.

They stayed like that for a few more minutes, Grantaire only rising when Enjolras started making faces at the sticky feeling of sweat on his skin, rising with a last run of fingers through his hair, showing him where the shower was. Still feeling loose and languid, Enjolras took full advantage, sighing in contentment as he dressed again, ducking into his hoodie and brushing out his hair, leaving it loose around his shoulders as he emerged to the smell of pasta and fresh bread.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” he remarked, shuffling into the kitchen and finishing off his water bottle from before only to find his own sitting on the counter and full, Grantaire shooting him an easy grin over one shoulder.

“Yup. I don’t often, but after sessions, almost always,” he replied, slicing bread at the counter. “Go ahead and take a seat, I’m almost done.”

“It smells good,” Enjolras admitted, lingering in the doorway of the kitchen. “What did you make?”

“Pasta with a basil-avocado sauce and rosemary herb bread, baked this morning,” Grantaire told him, looking not quite embarrassed. “It should be edible, don’t worry. Seriously, though, you can sit, I’ll be right out.”

Brow arching at the combination, Enjolras decided just not to say anything, settling cross legged on the couch and watching the documentary on fish that Grantaire had found, only half paying attention as the other man walked in and handed him a plate before dropping down beside him. To his surprise, he was actually hungrier than he’d been all week, wondering if he could convince Combeferre to get the recipe from Grantaire, the easy hum of contentment in the back of his mind not fading even as he started feeling normal. Thankfully, and a little surprisingly, Grantaire didn’t try touching him, letting Enjolras keep to himself, but his presence was steady and welcome and almost friendly as they made idle conversation about the food and the fish.

By the time they finished and he was ready to leave, Enjolras felt loose and content, easier than he had in a year, unable to keep himself from gracing Grantaire with a smile as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “Thank you. For… all of this.”

“Of course,” he said, smile easy and warm. “Anytime, E.”

“Don’t call me that,” Enjolras protested half heartedly, but his smile didn’t fall even as the door clicked shut behind him.


	2. Tie Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Enjolras needs to be pushed, and Grantaire has learned how to push just far enough, and things start (very slightly) to shift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The disclaimer from the previous chapter still applies.
> 
> This chapter is short on plot, but I wanted to include it because it is (whether or not he realizes it) an important moment for Enjolras. So next chapter, if you forgive the awkward pacing, will be heavy on it but will also include adorkable boys using their words.
> 
> Again, the occasional headcanon or comment can be found [over here](sovinly.tumblr.com) on my tumblr. There's a tidbit about Grantaire's apartment already. Questions, of course, are welcome.
> 
> (Also thank you all for your kudos! I appreciate all of them.)

Enjolras hadn't even been all that surprised when he returned home to find Combeferre sitting at the kitchen table with a new book on moths, eyes intent behind his glasses when he looked up, clearly studying him.

"Were you really waiting for me?" Enjolras asked, arching a brow and taking a seat at the table, bag set beside his chair, hoping he didn't look too much like he was about to slump into a contented puddle on the tabletop.

Combeferre only mimicked his expression, raising a brow of his own, carefully marking his place and setting his book aside, though there was something in his face that was hard to place. "I was. I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Ah," he said softly, a strange mix of guilt and affection stabbing through him. "You noticed."

"I noticed," he agreed, and Enjolras looked down, studying his hands, letting the quiet sit between them for the moment.

He hadn't forgotten that his closest friend knew about his extracurricular activities, but he had almost managed to forget the handful of times Combeferre had to talk him back to himself after insufficient or occasionally nonexistent aftercare, though he'd never made Enjolras feel guilty over it. It probably wasn't surprising that he'd noticed this morning, especially given how agitated Enjolras had been, and he sighed again, looking up at the other man. "I found someone I considered discrete enough and who passed the extensive negotiation process. He even made me eat before I left."

"I'm relieved to hear it, heaven knows you won't listen to me," Combeferre replied, voice dry, but his mouth curved up in a smile a moment later. "It did seem like you needed it. It went well, then? And you're feeling well?"

"I did. And yes, it went well," Enjolras agreed, with an indulgent smile for his concerned friend, though there was a sick squirm of guilt in his stomach for underestimating Grantaire that he quickly pushed aside. "I'm feeling much better."

"I'm glad," he said, touching Enjolras' hand gently, and that was the end of it.

Things fell back to a comfortable normal after that, and even the next meeting at the Musain was familiar, Grantaire picking apart Enjolras' arguments until they fought, making Bossuet and Joly sigh while Courfeyrac rolled his eyes at Combeferre with amusement and exasperation. He hadn't expected Grantaire to waltz in and announce it, but it was easy enough to keep things as usual, and Enjolras couldn't help but be pleased.

He was diligent enough to set up several more meetings, each as successful at mitigating his stress as the first, but then he got _busy,_ with work and the Cause in the weeks running up to a protest, minor but still key to raising awareness, and then dealing with the aftermath and the new interest and public relations, hardly feeling the tension winding its way up his spine.

It only got worse when his family got in touch to berate him once more on sullying the family name and an unflattering news article lambasted Les Amis de l'ABC as ineffectual rabble rousers, and Enjolras found himself grinding his teeth and digging his nails into his palms just to keep his temper, barely avoiding snarling at those who disagreed with him. After he nearly took Bahorel's head off one particularly tense night, he couldn't disagree when Combeferre subtly drew him aside and suggested, concerned and quite possibly fed up, that he do something to take the edge off the stress before he did something regrettable.

And as soon as he mentioned it, Enjolras felt rather ridiculous for not thinking of it before, almost anxious as he sent off an email that night before bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep and undeniably grouchy, thoughts ricocheting through his brain, never slowing down. It was all just too much, too badly timed, and he felt like it was itching under his skin, but even that abated slightly when he checked his email the next morning and found an affirmative, letting out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding until Combeferre gave him a knowing look and Courfeyrac chuckled sleepily, half dozing as he sipped his coffee, too wise to suggest that Enjolras must finally be getting laid.

He could hardly manage to shoot them a halfhearted glower as he typed out a reply, too grateful that he hadn't managed to alienate Grantaire with his recent bad moods and acerbic words, too much looking forward to setting aside his stress for a handful of hours. He needed it, something to force him to step back and take a break, no matter how short.

The promise was enough for him to tackle his inbox with a narrow-minded focus, though there was a Sisyphean mountain left to undertake, still, when he finally looked at the time and let out a sound that certainly wasn’t a rather undignified yelp. Enjolras hurried to change, yanking his hair back into a messy bun as he ran out the door, feeling rather flustered by the time he got to Grantaire’s apartment, nodding at one of his neighbors before heading up the stairs.

Grantaire bowed him in with his usual casual greeting, though his eyes were tracking Enjolras’ face thoughtfully, bruise from something still lingering along one cheekbone, a missed spot of dried red paint in the crease of his elbow. “Can I get you anything?”

Tense, Enjolras shook his head, hand clenching around the strap of his bag, shoulders hunching up just a little higher, back ramrod straight, and he was sure the other man noticed. “I’d rather start.”

“Of course.” Turning, he crooked a finger, and even as he scowled a little, Enjolras followed, the smell of paint still lingering in the studio as they entered. Grantaire looked back over at him, idly tapping a coil of rope against one palm, his eyes as unfaltering as ever. “I’m going to push you, today.”

“Good,” he said, and it came out sharply, almost viciously, as he set his bag down, but he nodded his assent again when he glanced over and saw the nearly cautious look.

Nodding back, apparently satisfied, Grantaire raised a brow. “Over here, and kneel.”

Though the frustration was still simmering under his skin, Enjolras padded over on silent feet, folding himself down smoothly, meeting Grantaire’s eyes for a long moment before relenting, bowing his head and lowering his eyes, hands moving to clasp behind his back, submission coming easily once he let it, rewarded with the brief weight of a hand on his head.

“Much better,” Grantaire said, still holding the rope – something sturdier this time. His hands were clever and confident as he danced through knots and loops, thicker than usual, only explaining the gist of what he was doing, but Enjolras was almost too distracted with following as best he could with his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, surprised at the looseness of the ropes around his chest and arms, brow furrowing just a touch.

Apparently Grantaire was paying close attention, because he huffed something that was almost a laugh, hand slipping under ropes to test the tension and room, thumb just skimming over Enjolras’ back. “Don’t worry, you’ll need the slack when I pull you up. Still with me?”

“Yes,” he said softly, feeling just a little more of rigid set of his shoulders ease at Grantaire’s touch, letting out a soft breath, concentration all on the ropes he now realized were wrapped to support his weight evenly and on staying still, where he was supposed to. “Still here, still green.”

“Very good.” There was a touch of a smile there before Grantaire took Enjolras’ arms, twisting them so his fingertips brushed his heels, tying his wrists and checking the circulation, humming in dissatisfaction, redoing the knot so it was just a little looser before his fingers pressed against Enjolras’ back. “Lie down with your legs stretched out. I’ll adjust them as I need to. You’ll tell me if it’s uncomfortable.”

“I will,” Enjolras agreed, curious even as he obliged, curving forward until he was stretched out on his stomach, arms bent back behind him and legs stretched out, earning another murmur of praise and just catching glimpses of Grantaire from over the curve of his shoulder.

He still hadn’t figured out how the other man managed to balance the guiding pressure and gentleness of his touch, but Enjolras yielded to it instantly, wanting to please and obey, even as his left foot was guided up to his right knee, right leg still stretched out, giving another affirmation before Grantaire looped another set of knots, around his knee and thighs, holding him in place. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it would be just this side of painful once he was in the air, and Enjolras’ breath caught at the implicit challenge, needing it.

Even with Grantaire’s quiet narration as he strung ropes through suspension loops, tying sure knots, Enjolras couldn’t help the quiet feeling of anticipation and not-quite-frustration as he waited, making himself be patient until the warning, and then there it was, the draw of the rope pulling his bonds a little tighter against his skin and the seamless movement up until it suddenly stopped. He was only a foot or so off the floor, but Enjolras felt every inch of height, holding his head steady and letting out another quiet sound.

Though he desperately wanted to relax into it, he couldn’t make himself, muscles staying tight and taught until Grantaire crouched down, tipping Enjolras’ face up to meet his eyes, watching him carefully and intently, sending a heady rush through Enjolras’ system. “Is this too much?”

Unable to trust his voice not to sound breathy, he shook his head earnestly with a firm, negative sound.

“Then _relax_ ,” Grantaire ordered, and there was that familiar note that kept Enjolras grounded, letting him loosen his muscles and lean into the ropes.

Shoulders easing at that, relieved, he let out a quiet murmur with his long sigh, but it was enough to rock him, weight tilted just enough to make him swing a little, and he was straining against the ropes again, desperate to steady himself, on the edge of panic, mouth starting to curve for the first syllable of _yellow_ until he suddenly stopped swinging, gaze jerking up to find Grantaire holding the ropes steady, the weight of his return look heavy.

“I have you,” he said, voice a desperately needed anchor, quelling the racing of his thoughts. “I have the ropes. You aren’t going to fall. Do you believe me?”

“… Yes,” Enjolras whispered, a little tremulous, even as his breathing started to even out again, dropping back into the halfway state, still caught in Grantaire’s stare.

“And you trust me?”

“Yes.” It came in a breathy little gasp, and any other time, he would have flushed red, embarrassed.

“The ropes will hold you, Enjolras. What I need to you do is let them. Stop fighting everything. Breathe on my count.”

Nodding, he closed his eyes, managing to keep still even when Grantaire let go of the ropes, obediently timing his breaths to the quiet recitation of numbers, suddenly reminded of the slow tick of the grandfather clock in the parlor of his parents’ home, slowly stilling, just on the edge of losing himself in the counting and the ropes and the gentle persistence of Grantaire’s voice, just on the edge of savoring the press of rope against his sides with each breath.

It wasn’t enough, and Enjolras found his gaze pulled back to Grantaire, face flushing with shame that he couldn’t submit fully and completely, as much as he wanted to.

“Enjolras,” he said, no disappointment there, only surety, and it pricked at the back of Enjolras’ mind, a quiet disbelief that the man who interrogated his beliefs could have such faith in him to do what he thought he couldn’t. “Stop thinking. Focus and let go.”

He tried to scowl, resigned to the fact it came out as more of a soft pout, pleading. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

Every frustration from the last several weeks surged up, hot and hard in his chest, and he felt the press of it between his eyes, stinging, and fought desperately for control. “No, I _can’t_.”

“Breathe.” It was an order, and he obeyed, gulping for air, but Grantaire was still studying him, searching him out. “Status report?”

“Green,” Enjolras rasped, hands clenching in fists, “and _fuck you_.”

Even that didn’t seem to rattle him, still demanding Enjolras’ full focus, eyes clear and attentive, Grantaire’s fingers staying under his chin. “Don’t. Now. You cannot micromanage every moment, every instant of every day. You are not in control here. I am.”

“I _can’t_ ,” he pleaded, a razor sharp keening in his voice, face flushing a dark shade of red, reduced to begging as the pressure built up in his chest, rising and shoving against every inch of his self control, eyes pricking. “It’s too much, I can’t, I can’t _stop_ , I can’t, don’t make me, I can’t.”

“You can,” Grantaire replied, voice and demeanor still effortlessly steady. “And you will.”

Panting, he tensed, coiled tightly. “It’s _too much_.”

“No, it’s not.” Surprisingly, it was softer this time, simple and comforting, assured and reassuring. “I have you. I have everything. You can let go now.”

“It’s too, I can’t, I-” Enjolras broke off with a ragged sob, bursting into frustrated, relieved tears, harsh sobs shaking him as he wept, chest heaving, the temptation of letting someone else take care of it, take care of him, too much, and he slumped against the ropes, listlessly sagging against them, letting them take his weight and cradle him as he cried, whining, trembling noises slipping out.

He’d nearly cried out all the stress, anger, anxiety, and exhaustion when he suddenly found himself on the flipside, misplaced and floating. Barely aware when Grantaire lowered him to the ground, Enjolras was still hiccupping and sobbing and gasping as he strayed with the sudden rush of dizzy, heady euphoria and catharsis, limp and pliant as Grantaire untied him and rubbed circulation back into his limbs, working his left knee loose before it could cramp.

Enjolras didn’t protest the blanket wrapped around him, pressing needily into Grantaire’s touches until he found himself in the other man’s lap, still sniffling as he buried his face against the side of his neck, slowly coming down to leisurely circles of Grantaire’s fingers against his scalp, his hair having spilled free from the too loose bun. Breathing still catching every so often, Enjolras clung a little, relaxing into Grantaire’s hold until he could steady himself a little more, listening to the litany of reassurance and praise murmured in his ear.

Eventually, he accepted the water bottle, taking an unsteady sip, starting to feel the quivering of muscles and cool trails of sweat on his warm skin, sore, as he mumbled, “Hi.”

“Hi there,” Grantaire murmured back, working fingers through Enjolras’ curls with the careful familiarity of someone whose hair tangled easily. “How’re you feeling?”

“Tired,” he said softly, resting his head against Grantaire’s shoulder, taking another drink. “But better. Needed that.”

“Yeah, I know.” He smoothed down more of Enjolras’ hair, other arm still hooked around him, warm and comfortable. “Think you can manage a shower?”

“Few minutes,” he mumbled, but nodded, hugging the blanket tighter.

Grantaire nodded, touch staying gentle and grounding. “Do you need help taking care of any chafing?”

“No,” Enjolras decided after a minute of thought, eyes half lidded, worn out and drained. “I can handle it.”

“Okay. First aid kit’s on the counter,” Grantaire told him, not pushing further, still just petting down Enjolras’ hair until he finished his water before helping him to his feet. Still rather shaky, Enjolras waved off his offer of help, left leg starting to stiffen a little as he headed for the shower, barely managing to make himself wash his hair before listing against the side of the shower, starting to cry again for no real reason, though nothing near the sobbing earlier, drifting a little and letting the water run over him until he started losing track of how long he’d been there. Drying off, he checked over his skin and tended areas that looked particularly raw with a quiet detachment before dressing again, snugging into his sweatshirt and wrapping his arms around himself as he made his way out.

Grantaire wasn’t in the kitchen this time, instead waiting on the couch with two plates of food and more water, Enjolras shuffling a little as he joined him, feeling painfully obvious when he let the sole of his foot press against the side of Grantaire’s thigh, but the other man didn’t do more than just touch his ankle gently. Eating quietly and not really paying attention to the television, Enjolras took a moment to savour it, but when he finished his water, he caught himself inching closer, red burning across his cheekbones when Grantaire looked over at him.

“Come here,” Grantaire said, an invitation rather than an order, holding out an arm as casually as he ever did to Jehan. “You’re still looking a little out of it.”

“A little,” Enjolras allowed, sagging in against Grantaire’s side, sighing softly as the other man’s fingers tangled loosely in his blond curls again, tears nearly bubbling up again before he settled, feeling nearly back to normal by the time the show ended but reluctant to move, wincing as his leg twinged.

Catching it, Grantaire stroked his hair again, looking apologetic. “I didn’t realize it was still bothering you. I’m sorry I hurt you, I should have noticed. Let me get you some painkillers and dessert, and I’ll work it out for you. And it still falls under aftercare, Enjolras, so don’t snap at me.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he protested, unconvincingly, and sighed. “Alright. I would… appreciate that.”

It earned him a grin, Grantaire heading off to the kitchen while Enjolras wrapped the blanket around his shoulders again, stretching his leg in front of him and watching another documentary, chin propped on one hand. When he returned, Grantaire looked amused but didn’t laugh, letting Enjolras swallow the painkillers before handing him a bowl of raspberries topped with sugar and crème fraîche, at which point Enjolras more than forgave him for the near laughter, sitting patiently as the artist worked the pain out of his knee, easing it away as though it had never been there.

During a commercial break, Grantaire looked up, dark brows faintly furrowed with concern, thumbs pressing in just the right spot. “Did I push you too much?”

“No,” Enjolras said, shaking his head, equilibrium more or less restored and too comfortable to move. “It was getting there, towards the end, but it turned out to be just enough. I needed that.”

Grantaire nodded at that, keeping a hand on Enjolras’ ankle as he finally sat back. “Alright. I’m glad. I’ll be more careful with the knots, in the future. ”

“Much appreciated,” he said, with a slightly dry, teasing note. “It was fine. Really. Did I interrupt your painting, earlier?”

“Mmn? Nah. I mean, I had been painting, but I was at a point to stop when it got close to time. Besides, as you said, you needed it, and I would be very sad if Combeferre suddenly snapped on you,” he replied, teasing back a little, eyes glinting with amusement.

Enjolras couldn’t help a quiet snort of laughter at that. “I’m sure.”

They lapsed into an easy silence again after that, Grantaire not commenting when Enjolras finally shifted his foot away, lounging around and making snarky commentary on the show playing in the background, making Grantaire laugh and add in his own. By the time it ended and he left the apartment, it honestly felt more like spending time with a friend than an extension of aftercare, and it was a nice feeling, sinking into his bones with the contentment as he let himself into the apartment, electing to ignore his inbox in favor of sleeping on the couch, lazy and satisfied. 


	3. Set Me on My Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras wants something more, he just isn't sure they can have it without it becoming complicated, but he's never been one to back down from a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter one for the standard disclaimer.
> 
> And whoops, this got away from me. There's no kink in this chapter, but there will be in the last one. So if you aren't interested in relationship negotiations and/or fluff and sex, feel free to skip this chapter. I just realized that this chapter feels necessary for the last one.
> 
> Also, I am not sure how happy I am with the formatting, so my apologies for any changes to that, as well as to the tags and summary. One of these days I'll get my shit together.
> 
> Please feel free to stop by [my tumblr](sovinly.tumblr.com) to chat or ask questions (I love questions)!

Seven months after they struck up their arrangement, Enjolras found himself standing at the door to Grantaire’s flat once more.

Their friendship hadn’t come as much of a surprise, ultimately – he almost counted it an inevitability after they’d spent so much time in one another’s company and, though they’d never talked much about what was personal, made up for it with the honesty necessary for trust. Besides, it was hard not to think of Grantaire as a person worthy of his attention and friendship when he effortlessly flipped crepes and analyzed films as easily as if he had majored in the subject and told Enjolras about the paintings on his walls.

The interest, though, that had snuck up on Enjolras almost without him realizing it at all.

It had slipped in somewhere after seeing Grantaire sink to his knees with Azelma and talk her through a panic attack, hands tightly laced together. Or after he and Enjolras ended up wandering their way through the market where everyone seemed to know the man on the day Grantaire was so aching for a drink he couldn’t stay still but didn’t trust himself to be alone. Or it was after the only time Enjolras had used his safeword because he’d underestimated how badly he’d hurt his shoulder and, while they’d had a very serious discussion on why he had to mention things like injuries after he’d been patched up, Grantaire still made him dinner and kept him company because Enjolras dissociated so easily, still was on the borderline.

There was too much there to pinpoint an exact moment, but it had lodged itself in his head, this thought that he wanted something _more_ with the man he’d once never thought to look twice at. He hadn’t known what to do, still so bound up in the labels and categories he tried to deconstruct, but for the first time in quite a while, Enjolras felt on uneven footing.

And now he was standing on Grantaire’s doorstep and knocking.

When Grantaire opened the door, he looked puzzled, the same slight curve to his eyebrows he did the last time Enjolras showed up unexpectedly, but he smiled, tipping his head in easy invitation. He must have been working with watercolors that day, because there was a faint stain of purple on his fingers like an odd birthmark, a diluted blue splashed on the hem of his shirt. “You don’t look like you got in a fight again.”

“No, Combeferre is still too impressed I came back and actually apologized,” Enjolras replied dryly, stepping inside the familiar apartment, automatically toeing his shoes off by the door. It felt strange, being here in jeans and a proper shirt for once, hair in a low ponytail. “He thinks the stress relief has done wonders for my people skills.”

That made Grantaire laugh, curls slipping free of the knit hat he was wearing – a warm brown today – as he tossed his head back, eyes bright with amusement. “Oh, the irony. If only he knew! If not providing a place to sulk, what can I do for you today, Enjolras?”

The use of his name rather than a nickname still made him smile, and though he was uncertain, there was none of the embarrassment this time, Enjolras running his fingers through his hair as best he could as he offered a smile. “I had been hoping to speak to you, actually.”

“C’mon in, then, I’ll make some tea.”

That was another constant, Grantaire making them tea whenever they had something to speak about, and Enjolras wasn’t about to complain, taking a seat at the small table in the kitchen and nodding gratefully when he was finally handed his mug. They sat in silence for a moment, because Grantaire seemed to have learned that Enjolras sometimes needed a minute to gather his thoughts.

“I would have no intention of altering our arrangement, though I realize this might change things,” Enjolras finally said, sipping his tea slowly, fingers rubbing over a small chip in the porcelain, phrasing a little awkward but evenly meeting Grantaire’s eyes. “But… I’ve come to realize that I have feelings for you, both romantic and sexual. It wouldn’t be worth giving up our friendship, so please don’t hesitate to tell me if you aren’t interested, but I’d like to ask you out, if the feelings were mutual.”

Grantaire stared at him a moment, eyes widening in surprise and a hint of uncertainty or insecurity flashed across his features before he seemed to realize Enjolras was serious and broke into a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling from the force of it. “I’d like that. Your feelings are more than returned. No alterations to our arrangement, though? It’s fine, if not, I just need to know where we stand.”

Enjolras sighed, softly, rolling his cup of tea between his palms. “I’m still uncomfortable with bringing kink into a sexual relationship, let alone into our relationship outside the bedroom. It’s entirely possible that I might reevaluate my opinion eventually, but for now, I like what we do. It isn’t that I wouldn’t trust you, but I’m not sure if sexual kink is something I’m even interested in.”

“Alright.” Grantaire nodded, easily tactile as ever as he briefly brushed his fingers over Enjolras’ hand. “I’m okay with that. I think I prefer that as well, so that we can get our bearings in a romantic and sexual relationship. Let me know when you want to pick that up? If you need some time to adjust, I more than understand.”

“I will, thank you,” he replied, impulsively taking Grantaire’s hand in his and earning an almost shy smile.

His grip tightened on Enjolras’ before his head tipped a little, his smile not yet faded, though there was a serious cast to them. “You do know that I’m still working on managing my depression, right? And that I smoke more than is healthy and will keep smelling like that and paint products, and that I have trouble sleeping, and that I’m still going to tear your arguments to shreds and be a cynical asshole.”

He cocked a brow up with a rather flat look, but Enjolras was sincere as he responded. “And I’ll still work too much and struggle not to be cruel when I get too overworked, and I’ll fight back just as hard. I’ll still be preoccupied and forget to eat and preach about what you call senseless idealism and fuck up because I’m only human. But I think we’ve proven we’ve learned how to talk to one another, if nothing else.”

“The point goes to you.” Grantaire’s smile returned full force at that, as though the admission had settled his worries entirely. He studied their hands for a long while in the content quiet, still tangled together on the table, before he looked back up at Enjolras. “Question okay?”

“Of course.”

“How long have you had these feelings?” he asked, a familiar touch of insecurity in the angles of his face, and Enjolras squeezed his hand gently.

“I’m not entirely sure. Several months?” He pursed his lips slightly as he thought. “It wasn’t because of our arrangement, directly. But it helped that I trusted you that much more afterward, I think, and that it gave us more opportunities to spend time together. I hope you won’t deny that we’re friends, at this point, but I realized a while ago that it was more than that.”

He laughed softly and affectionately, the look in his eyes softening. “You still sound like you’re speaking out of a pamphlet. But I appreciate it. I’m really glad to know that.”

Enjolras snorted, able to take the teasing for what it was, lightly kicking Grantaire’s foot. “So romantic. May I ask the same thing?”

“Oh, that’s a tough one.” Grantaire sighed, resting his chin on the heel of his hand. “Honestly? I was head over heels in love with you back in university. But I already knew it would be a bad idea – we were too different. When I started getting my life back together – you can have the full story later – it was enough to be casual friends, but now that we’ve been talking like actual people – and yeah, the trust thing – I’ve started having feelings for you again.”

Pausing on the verge of saying something, he blinked. “Oh. I never realized. You’re right, though, I think. I was horrible to you back then. I was so consumed with revolutionary fire that I judged you too harshly. I didn’t understand as much as I thought I did, and I didn’t realize how your depression and alcoholism influenced one another and that the later is a legitimate illness, and I’m sorry for the things I said. And I suppose this is a good time to point out that I’m not only with you because you aren’t drinking, though I’m glad you stopped – you seem so much happier these days.”

“You don’t have to make a speech, I promise,” Grantaire said with a wry quirk of his lips. “You’ve cooled down a lot, in a good way. But thank you, I appreciate it. Though I did take your new campaign on mental health awareness a year and a half ago as a tacit apology.”

“It was intended as one,” Enjolras admitted sheepishly.

Grantaire grinned at that, teeth crooked. “Fuck, you’re cute. May I kiss you?”

A bit surprised at that, he nodded all the same, smiling back, and then Grantaire’s hand was warmly cupped around his jaw and his mouth was pressed against Enjolras’, chaste but firm, and Enjolras kissed him back, absently pressing a kiss to the heel of Grantaire’s hand when they broke apart.

“Does this mean a yes, then?” Enjolras asked, quirking a brow, and Grantaire laughed.

“Yeah. Yeah, that means yes. Does this mean you’re going to wine and dine me?”

He scoffed, doing nothing to stop smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m not sure. I have developed a fondness for your cooking.”

“You’re so sweet,” he cooed back, but there was that shyly pleased grin, eyes lighting up a little. “I’m always happy to cook for you, but what if I want you to show me off, hm?”

“Don’t you mean the other way around?” he asked, well aware his own eyes were just as bright. “Seeing as we’ll inevitably end up at one of your usual haunts where everyone knows you.”

“Maybe that too,” Grantaire agreed, not even having the decency to look ashamed as his grin grew, utterly charming in a lopsided way, and Enjolras couldn’t help his laughter, still holding the other man’s hand as he rose.

“Grab your coat, then, let’s go show one another off.”

Grantaire’s own laughter seemed to echo through the rafters as he did as told, curling around the quiet spaces of the apartment before they closed the door behind them.

As it turned out, Enjolras was right and Grantaire was showing him off, but it was nice, in its way, to slip into the little slice of the city he spent so little time in. They got caught up at a quiet place, tucked into an odd cranny of a side street where they sat for hours, just talking and catching up and debating and it was nice. By the time they left, the sun had started dipping low in the sky, twining ember oranges and scarlets through the clouds, but neither of them so much as looked twice as they headed back through the streets, Grantaire occasionally leaning over to nudge Enjolras or bump his elbow, and though Enjolras sighed, he didn’t protest further.

It turned into a beautifully hazy week of stolen moments and a couple of dates that they managed to work in around their respective schedules, and by the time the usual meeting at the Musain rolled around, there was a unexpectedly comfortable intimacy between them. Enjolras had already told Combeferre, but still felt a faintly self conscious smile cross his face to see the other man’s approval while Courfeyrac grinned broadly and brightly at their entwined hands, and he counted it as amazing that they got any work done at all.

He hadn’t intended, particularly, to move slowly or quickly, but they’d been busy, and when Saturday morning found him camped out on Grantaire’s couch as they watched a film, Enjolras leaned over to steal a kiss that slowly deepened until Enjolras slipped over to straddle Grantaire’s lap. He grinned at that, coaxing Enjolras into a slow and lazy session of making out, his hands rough as they just skimmed the edges of Enjolras’ shirt, not demanding, just lingering.

He didn’t complain, returning each kiss, one hand curled around the back of Grantaire’s neck as he pressed a little closer, trailing kisses along Grantaire’s jaw and neck languidly, earning a rough, sweet moan when his lips brushed a particularly sensitive spot. Enjolras arched into Grantaire’s hands as he rucked up his shirt, feeling warm and heavily comfortable, shivering at the feel of calluses over smooth stretches of skin between scars. In return, he slid his hand up Grantaire’s chest and over his shoulder, savoring the ability to _touch_ without reservation, other hand still tipping the other man’s head as he moved up for another kiss.

This one was deeper, tinged with need, and he swallowed when they broke apart. Leaning in for another and another, he coaxed Grantaire into settling into the heavier kisses and caresses, not quite biting his lower lip. In retaliation, Grantaire actually did bite Enjolras’ lip at the same time he slid his hands up in a particularly delicious way, and Enjolras moaned raggedly, not missing the way Grantaire’s eyes widened at the sound. Sitting up, Enjolras tugged his shirt off in one smooth motion, blue eyes heady with want and feeling almost unreasonably turned on as he watched Grantaire studying him, analyzing the curves and flat planes of Enjolras’ body as he would a painting before he pulled Enjolras in for a hard, not quite harsh kiss.

When they broke apart, Enjolras cupped Grantaire’s jaw in his hands, a flush spreading over his cheeks and lips red, voice a little husky even as he spoke matter of factly. “If you have no complaints, I would very much like to fuck you tonight. We can switch another night, but tonight, I want you.”

“Oh my *god*,” Grantaire murmured, blue eyes a little dazed and showcasing every fleck of green and brown, his hands tightening a touch on Enjolras’ hips. “Yeah. Yes. Absolutely yes.”

He couldn’t help the satisfied smile at that, though he blushed when Grantaire ducked his head to press a tender kiss to Enjolras’ palm. “Oh, good.”

They traded a few more kisses, slow and open, before finally moving, Grantaire leading Enjolras back to the bedroom. It was neater than Enjolras had expected, cluttered but not messy, hints of projects and pastimes scattered along walls and over surfaces, rope coiled on the desk and books piled high almost to the point of collapse, but he didn’t look too closely, too distracted by the feel of Grantaire’s mouth pressing kisses over his fair, pale shoulders.

Turning, he snagged the slightly shorter man in for yet another kiss, not quite demanding, before they toppled onto the mattress, limbs all tangled up in one another, teasing out this new extension of trust and touch. Enjolras sucked another mark on Grantaire’s neck before pulling the other man’s shirt off, realizing suddenly that this was the first time he’d seen him so bare despite how open and vulnerable their sessions were, and pausing for a moment.

He hadn’t been sure what he was expecting, but it hadn’t been this – solid, slightly stocky muscles under the remnants of alcoholism and bad posture, skin just dark enough that it danced on the line of white-passing (he’d almost forgotten, had never asked, actually) marked with scars and creases like map lines, dark hair, and swirls of tattoos in black and in color that he’d just never _noticed_ and now wanted to trace out with his fingers. He made do with bending down for another harsh kiss, hands trailing freely over Grantaire’s chest and stomach.

Grantaire’s hands slid up, tugging Enjolras’ hairtie out with a familiar twist of his fingers and ruffling his braid free, fingers buried in the blond curls as he tugged him closer, Enjolras letting out a whimper against his mouth. Distracted with kissing, it took them a moment to shift long enough to strip one another bare, Enjolras pinning Grantaire against the bed even as he cupped his jaw in one hand, catching his eyes. “We’re alright?”

“Yeah.” He grinned, but there was a softness to it, as though he was genuinely touched that Enjolras was checking in with him so explicitly, fingers still entwined in Enjolras’ hair. “So if you still plan on fucking me into the mattress, there’s stuff in the drawer.”

Scoffing, Enjolras rolled his hips against Grantaire’s, smirking at the low, keening sound he earned before he reached over, fumbling a little until he located the lube and condoms. Leaning in as he opened the bottle of lube, Enjolras languorously kissed under Grantaire’s jaw, murmuring quietly affectionate things in his ear as he slowly worked his fingers in, unable to help his low, delighted smiles at the breathy moans and sighs and swears his actions produced, Grantaire flushed and hazy eyed by the time he finally pulled back.

Rolling on the condom, Enjolras couldn’t help his blush deepening at Grantaire’s appreciative look as he watched, the two just pausing for a long moment to study one another, faint smiles mirrored, before Grantaire just started laughing, head falling back on the pillows. Enjolras scowled faintly at that. “What?”

“Just – we’re ridiculous and this is great,” he replied, eyes bright and still creased in amusement, Enjolras helpless to do anything but return his smile, even if it was slight and soft.

“I suppose it is,” he agreed, leaning down in a swift motion to kiss Grantaire’s collarbone before he pressed in slowly with a needy whimper, not even bothering to try to be quiet. Enjolras set a slow and easy pace, his own moans and murmurs mixing with Grantaire’s gasps and cries. Suddenly, Grantaire wrapped his legs around Enjolras’ thighs and rocked his hips up hard.

“Come on,” he panted, the sound breathless and desperate, kissing Enjolras thoroughly. “Please, please, Enjolras.”

“Grantaire,” he murmured, the name slow and sweet on his tongue, hand tightening a little on the other man’s erection as he rocked against him just right, making him wail. It was a sweet blur of motion and want and need and noise, until he could feel Grantaire coming apart under his thrusts, under his fingers, and Enjolras felt the burn of it pressing closer and closer until he followed over the edge, sounds strangled and not quite broken.

Reluctantly, he pulled back to discard the condom, Grantaire looking rather blissfully hazy sprawled back on the bed, snagging a tissue to clean off his stomach before letting his eyes half slip shut, holding an arm hopefully out to Enjolras.

“You’d think by now you’d realize that I am secretly a fan of touching,” Enjolras told him wryly, but he still sounded far too content for Grantaire to even pretend to take offense, settling beside the other man, though tugged Grantaire over against him and kissed him softly, wanting to be the one to offer affection and security for once, reveling in the feeling of being trusted and secure.

Chuckling, Grantaire laid his head on Enjolras’ shoulder, fingertips warm and rough as he combed Enjolras’ sweat-damp curls back from his face in a welcome and well-known gesture. “I know. But it still makes me happy that you allow it.”

Humming in contentment at that, feeling his cheeks flush a little, Enjolras just slipped his arm around Grantaire to hold him closer, free hand lingering in a moment of hesitation before he worked it into the sooty curls, his smile curving into a smirk at Grantaire’s murmur of boneless pleasure. They stayed curled up together for several long, languid minutes, the sun leaving warm patches of light on the bed and their bare skin through the window.

Not quite tired enough to nap and not wanting to break the relaxed, intimate silence with words, lulled in the lazy calm, Enjolras freed his hand, reaching down to catch Grantaire’s and twining their fingers, comfortable and firm.


	4. And Gently Bring Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras has anxieties about navigating two types of relationship with the same person. The only way to deal with them is to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer, chapter one.
> 
> The last chapter, for real this time, and we're back to the non-sexual kink. These dorks are super soppy and cuddly, whoops, and Enjolras is bad at non-Revolutionary change.
> 
> Thank you all for your kind comments and kudos! I really do appreciate them so much. And thank you for sticking with me through the end.
> 
> Feel free to come say hi or ask questions (seriously, I love talking about these dorks) over on my [tumblr](sovinly.tumblr.com)!

Usually, Enjolras reached decisions quickly, his brain making intuitive leaps until he reached a conclusion that he found satisfactory. Case in point, it hadn’t taken him long to approach Grantaire about negotiating their initial relationship, and even a relatively short time to decide to talk to him about his feelings. It had been nerve wracking both times, but doable once he’d decided to go ahead with it. For some reason, it was harder to bring himself to ask about being tied up again. He’d agonized over it, trying to tease out his motivations and concerns, even going so far to talk through it with both Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Still, Enjolras had debated with himself for a few more days before sending an email to Grantaire after another of their still-new rambles through the streets of the city.

The positive response had been a relief, and he immediately felt less restless, less apprehensive, when he stretched out methodically and dug out his usual bag, dressed to head over. But still there was a prickle of concern in the back of his mind, dogging his steps along the pavement and tapping him on the shoulder at the bottom of the steps. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it, but the nagging worry that they wouldn’t be able to keep up the delicate balance of two separate but simultaneous relationships, a little amazed and a little irritated that he still didn’t have the answers.

It felt like the right decision, though, when he entered the light-flooded apartment to the customary call of greeting.

Only when he was twining his hair back into a braid, unsatisfied with the bun it had been in previously, did Enjolras notice Grantaire studying him from the couch, and he arched a brow in silent question, flicking the hair tie around the end of his braid a few times until it was tight. "Yes?"

"You're sure you're ready?" Grantaire asked, gentle rather than challenging, eyes focused on Enjolras'. "You look a little preoccupied."

He was, a little, but it had been a month, and Enjolras _needed_ , had forgotten how used to settling in that space of trust and obedience he'd been. There was the worry that this might change things again, that their new relationship might bleed into this one or that he might not be able to fully give himself over but he had to try. Meeting Grantaire's eyes steadily, he nodded firmly. "I am. I need this. Please?"

"Mm-hm," he agreed, sitting cross-legged and half reposed as he watched Enjolras for a long, searching moment before he nodded. "And if you want me to stop?"

Enjolras recited the words and sign dutifully, used to it by now. They had a routine, more or less, with the questions and the sessions themselves, but he preferred it that way, and the knowledge that there wouldn’t be too much deviation from his comfort zone kept him from pushing back too much, let him give up control more easily. Grantaire studied him another second before he rose and started walking back toward the studio, and the unspoken demand that he follow had Enjolras' shoulders slowly lowering from their tense arch.

Already falling into the familiar pattern, he didn’t need to wait for Grantaire's order before going down to his knees, head lowered demurely, long lashes obscuring his faint view. It earned an approving hum, and then Grantaire had crouched down beside Enjolras, studying him as if he were an uncooperative canvas, eyes almost dangerously focused. "How's your shoulder?"

"It isn't a problem," he said, softly, automatically biting back a reminder that it had been months since he'd injured it, but that wasn't his place, right now, and Grantaire asking usually meant he was considering something interesting.

"Good." He smiled at that, reaching for a coil of rope, starting to unwind it, hands steady and sure as he started twining, occasionally prompting Enjolras to shift, the blond obeying the orders instantly, still kneeling but with his feet flexed, hands wrapped around the arches of his feet.

He'd expected a tie there, but there wasn't one, and he left his hands where they were, his shoulders rolled back. His left shoulder was tied back a little harder with another loop, rope creating an asymmetrical line across his back, his muscles taught even by the time Grantaire secured the last knot and tipped Enjolras' chin up slightly, Enjolras taking the cue and looking up at him.

"Have you figured out what I'm asking you today?" he asked gently, not looking at all disappointed when Enjolras shook his head slowly, still uncertain, keeping his eyes trained on Grantaire's. "That's alright. Hold that position. Don't relax into it, and don't you dare move your hands or your feet."

Enjolras couldn't help the breathy sound, a mix of frustration and thrill at the challenge, nodding slowly and starting to lower his gaze again, acutely aware of every nuance of his position.

"Ah." Grantaire's fingers tapped twice under his chin again, Enjolras obligingly tipping his head back up, slender throat feeling exposed. "Head up."

"Yes," he murmured, posture straightening a little more, determined to please. Even as he fought to keep his pose from straying, fingers flexing around the curve of his feet, he could feel himself settling by degrees into the calming wash of obeying, of listening and acquiescing, responding affirmatively when Grantaire checked in with him.

It seemed even more silent than usual in the studio, Enjolras noted remotely, feeling as though he could feel every brush of air against his skin and his clothing, every bead of sweat slowly gathering in the small of his back, every thread of his shirt. The line of his back started to slip, and there was Grantaire's hand, not sharp, but enough of a reminder for Enjolras to adjust.

Every time he started to slip up, Grantaire was there, and Enjolras responded instantly to the mild admonition of his prompting, starting to feel the strain of holding the pose through his shoulders and his legs, savoring the pull of it, the quiet pleasure of continuing to obey even now.

He was starting to tremble from the effort of it, neck aching and shoulders tense, a muscle in his thigh twinging in protest, when Grantaire's hand settled on the back of his neck, thumb smoothing over the warm, soft skin there as leaned down, close enough to Enjolras to speak softly.

"Very good," he said, the praise welcome and warming. "You can let it go, now."

Enjolras was only too happy to obey, sagging down into a loose curve, feeling the rope catch when he tried to move too much, and a quiver of pain sang through his muscles at the sudden shift but letting the pose go was a relief, so much that he could feel hazy tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he shook his head desperately when Grantaire started to ask, voice coming out thick and strained. "Green. It's fine, it's fine, _please_ -"

He didn't nod, hand grasping under Enjolras' jaw securely, forcing him to meet Grantaire's scrutinizing gaze where he was tempted to avert his eyes. Barely present, Enjolras struggled to focus, vision blurry and eyes glassy, shaking despite himself, rigidity creeping back up his spine the moment he stopped thinking about it.

"Still trying," Grantaire murmured, not an accusation, just a reminder, the pressure of his rough fingertips against Enjolras' jaw the only thing besides the ropes holding him together. "You always want to stay strong, don't you? You never want to appear weak to the rest of the world. But I know you better than that, Enjolras, I know what you need, and I’ll give it. So let go for me, relax for me."

Gasping for breath, Enjolras shuddered, whining slightly as he started to incrementally relax his muscles again, everything tense and straining and nearing painful, only belated realizing his fingers were curled against his palms, and then Grantaire's hands were warm through the thin cotton of his shirt and he was lying face down, ropes caught between his chest and the floor. He pushed his cheek against the cool relief of it, concentrated on the firm weight of Grantaire's hands at that sensitive spot between his shoulders, and felt the tension drain out of him in a moment, leaving an overwhelming rush of endorphins in its wake.

It was such a relief to obey, to give himself over, to mindlessly let himself go limp against the ropes, shaking and trembling on the floor with his feet helplessly in the air and the distant pain of his cheekbone against the floor, Enjolras taking heady gasps of air, feeling pleasantly lightheaded and dazed, wanting to arch against the solidity of Grantaire's hand but restraining himself because he was supposed to stay like this, loose and leadless. Shutting his eyes, he drifted, floated, just aware of the sensation of rope and the hand on his back and the floor under him and the words, when they came, and he sighed, long and shaky and heavy with not-yet-tears.

Eyes fluttering a little before he closed them again, Enjolras barely paid attention when his legs were slowly lowered and there were hands on him, mindlessly humming when an ache was soothed. Starting to feel the tremors running under his skin, he blinked, lethargic and lazy, the world still syrupy around him.

"Shhh, you were wonderful," Grantaire said, murmurs slowly coalescing into a soft rumble of words, his fingers soothing circulation back into Enjolras' pale wrist. "You're always so good, trying so hard to do what I ask you. I know, I know, it was hard, but you did so well. I've got you, my love, I have you, I'm here. You're here and I have you and you did so well."

His smile felt sleepy and slow, but Enjolras looked up at Grantaire blurrily, finally noticing the familiar soft weight of the blanket draped over him and he clutched at it with his free hand, nuzzling against Grantaire's thigh a little, turning his face against the soft fabric of his trousers, content to listen to his quiet praises for the moment.

He'd been so worried that something would change, but he felt as safe and at ease as ever, the only difference the occasional slip of an endearment or the soft, chaste kiss that was pressed to the chafed skin of his wrist, and Enjolras would have relaxed at that if there was any tension left, but he felt helplessly melted down, voice a little heavy when he finally spoke. "Grantaire."

"Enjolras," he greeted, voice affectionate as his fingers dragged slowly through the blond curls, careful as ever not to snag, and Enjolras was nearly purring at that. "Do you think you can sit up a little for me?"

Nodding, he shifted slowly up a bit, just enough that he could accept the water and sip it slowly, hand trembling a little as he did, limbs nearly buzzing from the release of tension after so long. He felt his eyes start to slip shut again, but clung to the feel of Grantaire's hand in his hair like a lifeline.

He was still talking, just enough to keep Enjolras aware, but then he was asking, "How are you feeling?"

"Good," he replied, slurring a little. "Very relaxed. 'M good."

"Yes, you are," Grantaire agreed with a soft chuckle, and Enjolras couldn't help a soft breath of his own laughter in response, drowsy and content, relishing in the touches. "Do you need a few more minutes first, precious?"

"Please?" Enjolras asked, still absent enough to curl a little closer in defense against moving, but Grantaire's hand settled a little heavier on his head.

"Shh, it's fine," he reassured, the brush of his thumb over Enjolras' temple now familiar but still enough to settle him. "Take as long as you need, it's okay. I'm here, we don't have to move just yet."

He huffed faintly at that, shifting himself into Grantaire’s lap a little more, Enjolras stretching out slowly and savoring the feeling as Grantaire started smoothing a hand down his back. When he was finally ready to move, he let Grantaire help him to his feet, muscles still complaining and watery, though he shook his head at the offer to help him down the hall, Enjolras leaning against the wall a little as he made his way, loose-limbed and unsteady as he hauled himself into the shower, resting his forehead against the wall of it.

As much as he’d needed the touching and petting before, he needed this space now, to rinse the clammy feeling of sweat from his flushed skin and his damp hair, to reorient himself and take a few slow, rickety breaths. His shoulders cracked when he rolled them, but they didn’t hurt, relaxing in the misty heat of the shower, and there was a touch of rope burn along one arm, but he felt a little delirious, intoxicated on the feeling of surrender. Still a little fragile, too, as he dried off, fingers fumbling uselessly at his hair before he gave up on braiding it and dressed again.

Grantaire was waiting for him again, passing over a bottle of water when he spotted Enjolras and gave him a smile. “Want some tea or anything?”

“Mm-hm,” he agreed, leaning in the narrow entryway to the kitchen. “Do you mind if I…?”

“Not at all,” he assured, reaching over to turn on the electric kettle. “Go ahead and sit, find something to watch, if you like. I’ll be done with food in just a minute.”

“You really don’t have to feed me, you know,” Enjolras pointed out, feeling settled just watching Grantaire move about with his usual easy grace.

He earned a smile for that, open and affectionate. “I know, but I like to. And this always takes a toll.”

“I’d tell our compatriots on you, but then I think you’d never have the time to cook for me again,” Enjolras said, a little dryly, and the sound of Grantaire’s laughter cut through some of the fog as he waved him out of the room.

Mouth curving up in a slight smile, Enjolras did so, settling on the couch and finding something to put on in the background, not even complaining when he found the blanket that had become his draped on the back of the couch but simply tangling himself up in it, nestling down against the cushions. He only moved when Grantaire came out to join him, accepting the plate and ending up with his feet tucked against the other man’s thigh, faint anxiety stilling when Grantaire clasped his ankle gently.

They talked a little, Enjolras complaining about inaccuracies on the television and telling Grantaire about his week around bites of quiche and salad, and it helped, but he was still feeling touch starved when they set their plates aside. Still a little sore, but not painfully so, he nudged Grantaire with his foot, the man arching an eyebrow but shifting, a spark of affectionate joy in his eyes that made Enjolras warm.

Enjolras ended up leaning back against Grantaire’s chest, head resting on his shoulder and legs bent up, one of Grantaire’s curled in the space between Enjolras’, the other stretched out along the couch. When one of Grantaire’s arms wrapped around his middle, Enjolras nudged a little against his jaw, not quite a nuzzle, sighing a little as the fingers of Grantaire’s free hand ended up tangled in his curls.

It should have been an uncomfortable position, but he just found it warm, still partially covered in the fleece-lined blanket, and subtly, softly intimate. Enjolras let himself fit into the curve of Grantaire’s body, suddenly realizing that he could turn his head up for a tender, lingering kiss, but he decided not to and felt a little hum of contentment to know that it wasn’t asked of him, that it was perfectly alright not to want to right now.

Turning his attention back to the screen, he half paid attention, not quite dozing as he listened to the rise and fall of Grantaire’s breathing, Enjolras sinking into the warmth and peacefulness of the moment, idly trading commentary as he let himself be lulled back to alertness and normalcy. Saturated in the feeling of trust and surety, he let himself enjoy the respite, the dull ache of his body, the slowly dawning clarity of thought still muffled in pleasure and submission. He realized, with the slowness of waking, that he was not only content, he was happy, and the thought made him smile as he settled.


End file.
